


I can cut you into pieces when my heart is broken

by BrightDream



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Angsty Feelings, Bottom Charles, Charles deceiving Erik, Fake Charles/Hank relationship, Jealous Erik, Kink Meme, Lubeless Sex, M/M, Porn and Feelings, Possessive Erik, Rough Sex, Some masochist undertones, Top Erik, me trying to english
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1984536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightDream/pseuds/BrightDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon after being freed from the Pentagon, Erik realizes how Charles and Hank seem to be closer than ever.<br/>Predictably, he doesn't like this at all, and ends up confronting Charles about it in his apartment in Paris.<br/>Cue to some rough and possessive sex and a lot of feelings on both sides.</p><p>(Written for a Kink Meme Prompt that requested some implied Charles/Hank with jealous and possessive Erik.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can cut you into pieces when my heart is broken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [ Kink Meme Prompt ](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/11912.html?thread=22902152#t22902152).  
> It kind of grew legs and became much bigger and much less pwp than intended, but I'm posting anyway, hoping that it still satisfies OP and everyone else that showed interest.
> 
> The title was stolen from Pink's song "Please Don't Leave Me" that I think fits Cherik very well.

It’s hard not to notice, the proximity between them.

Even as they are rushing out of the Pentagon, fast and looking behind their shoulders, even as they trade quick bits of information, mumbled “no troubles?” and “come on, they will realize what happened any second now”,  something feels changed.

Not something the common observer would see perhaps, but Erik _is_ paying attention. He can’t quite keep his eyes out of Charles, to be honest; Charles, who used to be so bright and wonderful and gentle; Charles, who is now angry and messy and harsh.

Not with everyone, though. Because while he doesn’t even look in Erik’s direction, while his patience is a thin, unstable thing, making him snap at  Logan’s driving and Peter’s drumming his fingers against his sit...-

There’s something oddly different in the way he speaks with Hank, something that, even though is not kindness, even though is not gentleness, seems more respectful, more caring. Erik watches them in the car, the quiet words they exchange, and keeps watching as they decide to stop to eat.

It’s a road diner, with red benches and everything, and Erik is suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. He and Charles ate in a lot of these during their road trip and the memories still seem too fresh. He glances at Charles quickly, looking for some sort of recognition, but Charles doesn’t acknowledges it at all; instead, busies himself with ordering burgers for the five of them, and then with discussing their flight plan with Hank.

They sit very close.

 Erik can’t help noticing the way Charles leans into Hank’s space, uncaring to the lack of distance, the way Charles reaches for the ketchup and their arms brush. They don’t seem to think nothing of it, _worse_ , don’t seem to realize it, as if this intimacy between them is old news, as if it’s something long achieved and consolidated.

Erik finds the thought unsettling, so unsettling he can’t quite focus on his burger, even though it’s the first time he’s having something that is not prison food in a decade.

Afterwards, inside the car, while they drive to the hangar where the Xavier jet is kept, Charles fishes for his lighter in his pocket. He opens the glove compartment and rummages through it, then, not finding anything, starts to feel his way around, next to the door, in his other pockets, on the floor...

“Who the fuck took my cigarettes?” he asks, visibly irritated “I swear to God I’ve left them here, where the hell...-”

“Here, Charles, you left them with me” Hank says gently, taking the pack out of his own pocket and passing it to the front.

Erik straightens in his sit, closes his hand so tightly that they become completely white. He can feel the blood come to the surface where his nails cut through the flesh, but only presses deeper, as if the pain can make it better somehow, make him forget.

He used to do that, before.

Charles would always lose his cigarettes somehow, forget them somewhere, and Erik would pick them up, keep them, until Charles wanted one. He would give them to Charles then, and Charles would smile and kiss him as a thank you, and give him back the pack, because _Really, Erik, I know you’ll probably take better care of them than myself._

Erik did.

Erik _would,_ and who the hell does this kid think he is anyway, what right does he have, to take Erik’s spot, to monopolize Charles’ attention, to be nice and intimate and, and...

 _More right than you,_ says a small voice inside his head _You and Charles were together for just a few months, but Hank is living with him for_ eleven years _; who are you in comparison; what did you even mean to him at this point, Erik;_ nothing _;_ _he left you to rot in prison all these years and now he won’t even look at you..._

Erik wants to hurt Hank, so _very_ slowly, wants to pierce through his skin repeatedly, until he’s just a shaking mess of  bones and meat and pain...-

He watches as the cigarette smoke unfurls in the front seat, forces himself to take a deep breath. He should probably tend to his bloody hands before they mark the leather sit, but he doesn’t care; _can’t_ care, not when Hank is sitting right there by his side, defenseless and so easy to hurt.

They reach the hangar, and it all passes in a blur from there.

The plane gets ready to departure, Peter says his goodbyes and offers to take the car back to the Mansion, and all the while Erik tries to remain calm. He sits silently, fiddling with the new shirt Charles offered him, as the plane takes off.

Charles doesn’t have his powers anymore. He doesn’t even have the school, the very same one he used to babble about all the time, the very same one that used to be his dream.  He doesn’t have anything to do with mutanthood any longer, and from what Erik could get, spent the last few years isolated, hidden.

Hiding. 

That was always Hank’s thing, wasn’t it, and there’s a bitter taste in the back of Erik’s throat that comes with the thought. The last time Erik heard of Hank he was trying to develop a serum to contain his mutation; now here he is, blue gone, and now here is Charles, telepathy forgotten.

Erik very suddenly wants to hit something.

“How long are you without your powers?” he asks Charles, without quite managing to meet his eyes.

“Eight years” Charles says, voice a little tight.

“How did you lose them?”

He doesn’t mean to annoy Charles, doesn’t mean to cause a fight. But Charles answers, and he retorts, and Charles is talking to him, finally talking to him, for the first time since the Pentagon, sounding mad but also hurt and accusing, and Erik can’t take it, can’t take it.

“If you want to fight, Erik...-” and suddenly Erik is off his sit, and Charles is off his, and he fists his hands in Erik’s shirt and screams “ _You abandoned me_ ” and his face, oh, it’s like Erik is seeing a mirror, a perfect reflection of his own feelings, his own hurt and desperation, and Erik responds the only way he can, with violence, harsh words and harsh movements and...-

Charles walks off, looking very disappointed, like the mere vision of Erik disgusts him.

He disappears with Hank in the pilot cabin for the longest time after that, as Erik sits very still in his sit, staring at the dried blood in his hands.

 

\--

 

It’s been long years since Charles visited Paris, the last time an eternity ago, when he was still a student and he and Raven were still siblings.

The furniture is old and the place isn’t exactly clean, but the apartment is still here, more than enough for now, when they only need it for a few hours of sleep and a few more of planning.

“There are two rooms and another one that was made into a study” He explains “Just two double beds, I’m afraid. I can share the first one with Hank, and you two can share the other”

For some reason, Logan immediately refuses the idea, as if Charles is crazy for suggesting it. He chooses to settle over the dusty old sofa instead, leaving the second room to Erik, who, of course, doesn’t object.

As Hank moves into the hallway, getting inside the first room with his and Charles’ stuff, Erik goes right behind him, presumably going for his own bedroom. When Charles follows, though, he finds that Erik is frozen at his door, looking back at him.

There’s something strange in Erik’s eyes, something that might be pain, but might as well be anger. Without his telepathy, Charles is hopeless at understanding facial expressions, so he meets Erik’s gaze, stares back, as if he can force Erik to say something; to spill his secrets in the shadowy and small hallway, getting them both out of this darkness.

But Erik remains silent.

Perhaps they are too broken for words now, Charles thinks, remembering the small talk over chess in the plane, forced and tense and not quite the same; perhaps there are too many scars they inflicted each other, too many wounds that still sting.

Some of it probably appears on his face, because suddenly Erik shuffles, like he’s going to take action: move inside, or reach for Charles, or open his mouth to say something, _anything...-_

“Charles, I’ve unpacked the serum already, if you want to...-” Hank stops at the door, uncomfortable, accessing the situation and realizing he’s interrupted them.

“Thanks, Hank” He answers, but it’s too late. Because Charles may be rubbish at facial expressions, but it’s impossible not the see the way Erik’s lips become thin with rage, or the way the door to his room slams closed after he hastily disappears.

“I’m sorry” Hank murmurs when Charles comes inside with a sigh “I didn’t know...-”

“Not a problem, Hank.” He assures “Close the door, please”

Charles injects the serum, as he absently watches Hank getting ready for bed. The relief is instantaneous: for a few minutes Charles can’t think or worry about a thing, not Raven, not Erik, not the future, can only enjoy the high, closing his eyes and flying far, far away...-

When he comes back to himself Hank has changed to his pajamas already, curled on the side of the bed. “Do you mind, Charles? I know you talked about sharing the bed, but if you prefer I can sleep on the floor...”

 “Don’t be ridiculous, Hank; of course I don’t mind” he murmurs and puts the syringe aside.

If he had any sort of reservation with Hank before, that has been gone for many years now. Hank has been with him for more than a decade, seen him through his absolute worse: drunk and vomited and filthy, too depressed to attend Sean’s funeral; desperate and ashamed and wanting to die, soon after the paralysis, when he needed help to shower and use the bathroom and everything else, really.

The idea that he might have a problem with sharing a bed in laughable.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, though. The adrenalin of the day still rushes through his veins, making impossible to relax, even after the serum.

He silently climbs off the bed, stepping outside the bedroom. The apartment is quiet, Logan probably asleep by now, and the door to Erik’s room still closed. Erik always had the most annoying knack for falling sleep whenever he wanted to, just like that, so he’s probably not awake either.

When he tiptoes to the other room, though, the one that works as a simplified version of the mansion’s study, he finds he’s not the only one out of bed.

Erik is standing next to the book shelves, his body a thin and straight line in the empty room, his left hand against a picture in the wall. It’s Charles and Raven when they were teenagers, smiling, and Erik explores it with his fingers, like it means something, like he can learn Charles and Raven again by the touch only.

 He probably could.

 “I thought you were sleeping”

Charles didn’t even realize he was about to speak, but simple as that it’s out, and the silence is broken.  Erik turns to him quickly, ready to attack, but then he sees it’s only Charles; forces himself to relax, lowering his hands and turning back to the wall.

“I’ve been sleeping for the last ten years, Charles”

Charles watches the line of Erik’s back for a minute, considers going back to his room, even if it means spending the entire night shifting from one side of the bed to the other.  He will accomplish nothing with Erik right now, nothing but hurt and pain and even more aching in his heart. Still, he doesn’t think he is able to walk away.

He leaves the door ajar; crosses the room to sit in the red armchair in the corner. Erik is still facing the wall, and Charles doesn’t try to call his attention. He just observes in silence: the width of Erik’s shoulders, the dip of his waist, the curve of his ass...-

“So, you and Hank” Erik says, very quietly, still not looking at Charles.

“What about us?”

Erik turns. There’s something positively murderous about his eyes.

“Are you _really_ sleeping with him?”

Charles frowns, eyebrows rising, and tries to suppress a laugh.

He wants to mock Erik for such a ridiculous idea, because really, he and _Hank_? Not that Hank isn’t a nice guy and all, smart and kind and even a little good looking. But for Christ’s sake, Hank is straight, and Hank used to have a huge crush on Raven, and _oh my God,_ it’s _Hank_ they are talking about, the guy that has cleaned Charles’ vomit and shit, and that would be _so_ weird.

Now that he’s thinking about it, though, they have probably given Erik enough reason to think so, much closer now than before, sharing a bed like it's no big deal. And Erik looks so annoyed with it, _furious_ to be more precise,his stare cutting deeper than knifes.

Erik is jealous, Charles realizes suddenly, _so very_ jealous, and in that moment he feels more powerful than he’s felt in years.

“And if I _am_ sleeping with Hank?”

Erik stares.

A muscle in his jaw pulses, his hands close into fists, but Charles just looks back calmly, until Erik jerks back to the wall, as if he’s so mad he can’t even look at Charles anymore, so mad he’s afraid he won’t able to contain his anger for much longer. 

It wakes something inside Charles, something ugly, cruel; something that exults in Erik’s reaction, that wants to see Erik burn and rage and break them, until they are both bleeding.

“You’ve really reached the bottom, huh” Erik scolds after what it seems like a long time, his voice trembling.

“Excuse me?” Charles grips the sides of the armchair tightly “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“That he’s a _fucking kid_ , Charles” Erik retorts, turning back at him “How many years is he younger than you, _fifteen_?”

“ _Eleven._ And if you can’t make the math, Erik, that makes him _twenty eight_ , the same age I was when we’ve met. He’s not some dumb child, bloody hell, he’s a grown up man, so if you would just shut up...-”

“Not a man.” Erik cuts in, fuming “Perhaps not a child, but _not_ a man. Sounds more like a frightened puppy to me, always with his little tail between his legs, hiding and cowering...-”

“Shut your mouth” Charles stands from his sit. He won’t have Erik offending Hank, even if in reality they don’t have the sort of involvement Erik imagines “What do you even know about it...-

“More than _he_ does, certainly!” Erik shouts, out of control “I mean, it’s all _fine_ while you want to boss him around, isn’t it? I bet he takes that very well, the little fuck, submits _all_ you want. But when you want him to give as bad as he gets; what then? I bet you miss me then, don’t you, Charles; when you want someone to fight back and the only thing he can do is to lower his head...”

Charles laughs.

It’s a strange, shrill sound in the room, but it makes Erik stop talking immediately.

“Oh, Erik” Charles says, and in that moment he feels empowered, and cruel, and _alive_ “Oh, you really don’t know what you’re talking about, do you, darling? I think you’re forgetting that he’s called Beast for a reason, and that’s certainly not because he’s a docile little thing in bed.”

Erik stiffs.

 Charles doesn’t even know if it’s true, of course, has no idea how Hank is or isn’t in bed, but he likes this game; likes the pained emotion in Erik’s face, the anger and jealousy and instability.

“ _Fuck that_ ” Erik spits, challenging “I bet he’s _nothing_ compared to me, I bet he doesn’t even...-”

“You know, I think you’re probably right in that part.” Charles interrupts; speaking with a calmness he doesn’t feel “I don’t think there’s a way to compare both of you, really... For starters, for all you like to say you’re strong and in control and all of that, you always were _very_ obedient...I don’t know, Erik, but lately I’ve been thinking you were perhaps a little too _tame_ for me...”

Erik looks absolutely livid with rage, his eyes burning.

 He probably should be able to see past Charles’ obvious lie, because, really, Erik was always perfect in that sense, _too_ perfect, submitting to Charles most times, but so very powerful and commanding when such a mood arose. Charles knows Erik can’t really think when he’s angry, though, can’t do anything else but let himself be consumed by dark, dark flames; so he’s lured into Charles’ trap easily.

“I’ll show you the tame” Erik utters, and he’s shaking with anger “I’ll show you the _fucking_ tame...”

And without warning he lounges in Charles’ direction, lounges in a way that for a wild second Charles thinks he’s coming for his throat.

His hands are lower, though, going for Charles’ shoulders, and just like that his body is colliding with Charles’ chest, slamming him against the wall. Charles fights back, tries to shove him away, but Erik is strong, and suddenly Charles isn’t pushing, but pulling, suddenly he can feel Erik’s heat, and Erik’s fire, and Erik’s mouth against his, sending them both into madness...

It’s not pretty, it’s not coordinated: it’s harsh and angry and full of teeth, and they are burning together, burning until there’s nothing else but their lips clashing and their tongues fighting and their hands gripping each other so strongly that their fingers are white.

It’s perfect.

It’s perfect, and they are both moaning and panting for breath against each other, refusing to pull away even for a second.  There’s a salty taste to the kiss, the flavor of tears, but Charles can’t for the life of him say which of them is crying. What he knows for sure is that they are both hard already, pressed together, and that Erik is lowering his head to mouth at his neck, biting and sucking and not gentle at all...

“ _Mine_ ” he murmurs, so possessive that Charles shivers “Not his, _mine_ ” and  then Charles realizes what Erik is doing. He’s _marking_ him, painting him in red and purple, and oh, isn’t it appropriate that those are Erik’s colors...

 Erik tugs at Charles’ hair, tries to press him down.

“Suck me” he asks, _no,_ orders.

Because right now what Erik most wants is to prove that he is not tame at all, to prove that he can dominate Charles, to force him, to control him...-

If it means to keep going, Charles doesn’t mind it in the least.

He falls to his knees, opens Erik’s pants quickly. Erik’s cock jumps under his briefs, obscenely tented, and Charles loses no time in lowering them and engulfing the head with his mouth.

_“Fuck...”_

Charles starts to suck, moving his head up and down, no time to lose, as Erik threads his fingers in his hair.

Charles used to tease Erik for hours before, warm breaths and quick sweeps of tongue, nuzzling against his thighs and balls until Erik was begging to be inside Charles’ mouth. Today he wants none of that; wants it rough and quick, Erik’s big cock disappearing beneath his lips without pause.

“Fuck, you look so good sucking me” Erik murmurs “And you are so hungry for it, aren’t you, Charles... I bet he doesn’t taste nearly as good as me...-”

Charles hums a clear disagreement, so turned on it hurts, challenging Erik once again. He wants to provoke Erik, to make him keep talking; wants Erik to take him and force him and have his way with him...

It’s like Erik is the telepath here, because suddenly he’s gripping Charles’ hair, so very tightly, fucking Charles’ mouth without restrain, his cock hitting the back of Charles’ throat again and again. Erik’s _huge,_ so huge that even eleven years ago, when Charles had been hopelessly infatuated and willing to do pretty much anything,  had he really tried to deep throat him. Now though, he has no choice but to take it all, choking on Erik’s cock as he rams into him. Charles’ eyes fill with tears because of it, and Erik’s fingers in his hair hurt more than it should, but oh, it’s a _glorious_ feeling, and he doesn’t want it to end, wants Erik to  hurt him; _ruin him_ , just as much as he has ruined him for life and for anybody else.

“Oh _yes;_ take it’ Erik says deliriously as he keep moving his hips, bobbing Charles’ head to make sure Charles meets his cock time after time “Who’s tame now, huh? Who’s tame now, when you look so good with my cock down your throat...”

Charles moans despite himself, the vibration making Erik give a sudden and particular hard thrust, then clutch at Charles’ hair.

“ _God_ ” Erik pants, and then tries to pull back, but Charles is having none of it, not right now, not when his jaw feels so sore already and he wants nothing more than Erik fucking his mouth again, and again and again... He follows Erik’s cock like he’s hungry for it, and he is, he _really_ is; he hasn’t been this turned on in a decade...- “Charles, don’t” Erik asks, but Charles ignores it “Charles, stop” Erik says and it’s almost a plea, but his eyes are closed and he’s clutching at Charles’ hair again....- Suddenly his fingers tighten, though, and he harshly pulls Charles back “ _No_ ” he demands, keeping Charles away from his cock only  by sheer force “ _Enough_ ”

It’s not a plea at all this time, but an order, so Charles stills, giving up trying to fight Erik’s hold, saliva and pre-come still on his lips.

For a long while they only stare at each other, Erik still holding him by the hair, cock hard as a rock, Charles probably just as hard in his pants even though he hasn’t even touch himself yet. But then Erik moves, and whatever Charles expected it was certainly not this, not Erik joining him on the floor, kneeling, not Erik attacking his mouth with a passion that steals Charles’ breath.

They kiss for a while, hungry for each other’s lips again, but soon enough Erik is opening Charles’ shirt and sucking hickeys on the parts that weren’t already bruised from earlier, and then his hands are lowering, his button and zipper coming free on their own, Erik roughly shoving down his pants and underwear.

He grips Charles’ cock without warning and Charles can’t help a sob against his neck. He tilts his body forward almost against his will, wanting to rub his cock against Erik’s, but Erik prevents him from doing so, gripping the base of his own cock as if the mere fact that Charles tried was enough to made him want to come.

“Stop that or you won’t get me to fuck you” he warns against Charles’ ear, voice a little shaky but still commanding “And I can see that your little puppy hasn’t made you less desperate for it”

Charles makes a high pitched sound that should probably be embarrassing, but right now he doesn’t care. Instead, he surrenders completely as Erik shoves him down on the dirty wooden floor, not at all gentle, ass facing up.

He loses no time, grabbing Charles’ ass, spreading his cheeks, and taking Charles by surprise when he spits on his crack. Charles whimpers as two fingers come to probe his hole immediately after, also wet from Erik’s saliva, massaging him open.

Erik was always the most sensitive one to this kind of thing, always the one begging for Charles’ fingers or tongue, while Charles, on the other hand, always enjoyed it in that distant ‘ _yeah; feels good, but stop playing around and get on with it_ ’ sort of way. 

Now though, after so long without it and being Erik’s fingers, Erik, who he thought he would never even see again, let alone fuck, Charles thinks he could probably come just from this.

Erik dips inside him over and over, not exactly gentle but much less harsh than most of his previous movements.  Charles is tight, though, too tight, and Erik stretches him and scissors his fingers...

Charles whimpers again, this time because it hurts a little.

Erik keeps going, though, oblivious, and Charles feels his arousal grow at each little stab of pain. The pain makes him feel real and alive; tethering him here, making him remember this is really happening, making him imagine he will probably limp for days after Erik’s done...

And oh my God, suddenly he needs this _right_ now. 

“Put it inside me” Charles begs “Please, Erik, put your cock inside me”

Charles hears Erik harsh intake of breath, but he doesn’t move his fingers away. “There’s no lube.” Erik points out, but he sounds drunk with lust “I’m going to hurt you”

Charles moans in response to that, unable to avoid grinding down on the hard floor, and really, when did he become such a masochist? “I don’t care, _please,_ you can hurt me, you can break me; just _come on_ ”

And perhaps Erik understands, understands that Charles wants it hurt, _needs it,_ because it hurts so much already, it has hurt so much all these years and now he wants to feel it in his body, wants the physical prove... Or perhaps Erik is just too aroused to fight it, helpless not to spit again and position himself against Charles’ hole, his cock slowing sinking in...

“Fuck” Charles all but screams, because it hurts, but also because it’s the most exquisite thing he’s felt in many, many years. Erik big cock holds him open, keeping his stretched and filled, as Erik pants against his neck, his breath coming quick. Charles squirms a little, pushing Erik’s cock further and he responds with an absolutely filthy moan, gripping Charles’ waist to keep him in place.

“Do you want this” Erik murmurs in his his ear “Tell me you want it, Charles, _tell me”_

“Erik, _please_ ” Charles begs, desperate “Please, just, _please_...”

He doesn’t need to say anything else before Erik is moving, thrusting inside him, slowly, his hips snapping and pushing Charles to the ground with every jerk. The position could be better, Charles ass too low on the floor, but Erik’s body is pinning him down, and Erik’s hands are holding him so tightly that he knows there will be dark bruises there to match the ones in his neck.

They are both still wearing their shirts, fabric getting between their sweaty bodies, and Charles wants more, wants to feel Erik more fully, to feel Erik more deeply...

 _“Harder”_ he pants, “harder”

But Erik just keeps him there, thrusting again and again, and murmurs dizzily: “Why should I, when you love it like this; why harder, if I got you right where I want you...”

Charles moans at the sound of Erik’s rough voice, tries to push back, buck Erik pins him and doesn’t relent.

“Tell me, Charles” Erik says and really, how can he talk when he’s so turned on “Tell me, does he feel like this when he fucks you? Is his cock this big?”

 And Charles gets his chance, chokes out:

“ _Bigger_ ”

Erik stills for a second, just a second, but he falls for it again, his rage coming back at full force.

“You utter slut” he snarls at Charles’ ear, changing the angle to grab Charles’ hair, pull it “You’re _mine_ you understand, you’re ** _mine_**...-“

And then he slams into Charles, _hard_ , fucking him just like Charles wanted him to, pounding into him, and it’s perfect, _oh_ , Charles is not moaning anymore, he’s screaming, Erik is so big and so harsh, filling him up, rubbing against his prostrate, oh my God...

“ _More”_ Charles begs “Keep going,oh, _oh_ , yes, _come on_...”

 _“Say you’re mine”_ Erik demands angrily “Say you’re mine or I’ll stop _, oh God_ , you feel so good, but I swear _I’ll stop_...”

“ _Yours_ ” Charles promises “ _Yours...”_

“My _name_ , Charles” Erik still manages to order, somehow getting heard over the sounds of Charles’ desperation and the obscene slap of their bodies together, his cock pushing into Charles’ ass in a frantic rhythm.

“Yours, Erik.” he says and then _“Erik, Erik, Erik...”_ each time Erik thrusts.

Erik is pulling his hair and moving without pause, and Charles is still being pressed down on the floor with every snap of Erik’s hips, his cock rubbing drily against the dirty wood. It should be uncomfortable and it _is,_ but it’s strangely good anyway, the rough friction combining with the wonderful feeling of Erik stretching him from the inside; mad with lust, now without any semblance of control, just pounding into Charles in a crazy search for pleasure...

Charles comes with a scream, his orgasm taking him by surprise, hitting him with an unexpected force, his cock spurting white and hot all over the floor.  It doesn’t take a lot more and Erik is coming as well, inside him, grunting and cussing and thrusting even harder, filling him up, making Charles shiver with the intensity of it... –

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, lost to the feeling of Erik’s warm weight on top of him, wishing they never had to leave the filthy floor again.

 

\--

 

After it all ends, after they get up and access their situation in silence, Charles refuses to let Erik clean him up or tend to him in any way, taking care of himself in precise, careful movements.

He’s got an obvious limp and hickeys all over his neck and chest, besides dark marks of fingers around his waist. Erik wanted to mark him, _claim_ him, but the idea feels stupid now, hollow: does it really matter how bruised Charles’ body is, does it really matter how many times Charles said he was his, when that awkwardness between them still persists?

It’s stifling, this thing that surrounds them,the anger and longing and knowledge that they could have had more than this, but didn’t, _won’t._ The fact that they fucked doesn’t change that, doesn’t erase eleven years, just as the fact that Charles said so in a moment of pleasure doesn’t really make him Erik’s.

If everything works the way it’s supposed to, by this time tomorrow Raven will be dead, Erik will be gone and Charles will hate him more than he ever hated another person.

Charles was probably better with Hank than he ever could have been with Erik, Erik thinks, feeling sick to his stomach, Hank could probably take better care of him than Erik ever would.

Erik stares at the purple marks that can be seen on Charles’ collar and feels at the same time possessive and unbearably sad, so proud and so guilty.

“Will the puppy give you much trouble over this?” he asks, trying to sound superior and challenging, but failing, because for more than he never wants Hank to touch Charles ever again, it stands to reason that Erik can’t stay, and Hank undoubtedly will.

Charles meets his eyes, and for a while it looks like he has something to say, a confession to make. He simply shakes his head, though, murmurs:

“Nothing I can’t handle”

And Erik looks at Charles, depowered and walking and bruised and angry, looks at him, messy and desperate and cheating and broken, and thinks that despite of it all, or probably because of it, there is nothing that Charles can't handle at this point.

“Whatever you say” Erik says, like it doesn't matter, and looks away. 

He doesn't want Charles to notice the moisture in his eyes, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. :)


End file.
